


I'm Fine Without

by Amelia_Clark



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Declarations Of Love, First Time, M/M, Oral Sex, Sam reads contemporary American literature, Season/Series 08, Top!Cas, bottom!Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-01
Updated: 2013-09-01
Packaged: 2017-12-25 07:59:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/950652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amelia_Clark/pseuds/Amelia_Clark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean knew his relationship with Sam required occasionally pretending they didn’t know the other was lying. </p><p>(Post-8.07.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm Fine Without

Dean knew his relationship with Sam required occasionally pretending they didn’t know the other was lying. Of course, the tacit agreement always broke open at some point—sometimes with weapons involved—but his brother knew that sometimes Dean just needed to say he was fine when he clearly wasn’t, and vice versa. It was a gesture of respect, to take the other at his word:

“I’m fine without Dad.”

“I’m fine without Lisa.”

“I’m fine without Cas.” 

This last he’d had to say more than once—a year ago, after the Leviathans had walked Castiel into that lake, Dean had insisted he was all right, and Sam let him say it, even knowing it wasn’t true.

Even knowing that Cas’s trenchcoat stayed in the trunk all day, sure, but spent its nights as Dean’s pillow.

Yeah, it was creepy, yeah, it was lame, but goddammit, it _smelled_ like Cas, and Dean wasn’t willing to let that go. While Sam slept, Dean lay awake trying to piece together the notes of that half-remembered scent: the sharp salt of sweat, the metallic memory of rainwater, and something else, otherworldly, individual. It was this that Dean searched for, the scent that had belonged to Cas alone and did not, would not, belong to anyone else.

As the months wore on, the fabric took on Dean’s own scent, and the mingling of the two—a new fragrance in the world, never before blended—made Dean want to cry. Sometimes he did.

Because he thought about how that smell shouldn’t have come from this pathetic coat-cuddling. It should have been them, creating it together, instead of denying this… _thing_ between them until it was too late.

When they found Cas alive, Dean resolved time and time again to just seize the moment, get over his awkwardness, the shame of wanting—not just a dude, which was bad enough—a freaking _angel_. 

And time after time, he fought it down, because there were better things to do. What, was he going to ask Cas out for dinner and a movie when Dick Roman was plotting a soylent smorgasbord? No way.

But all those nights of loss and frustrated desire were nothing compared to how Dean had felt after leaving Cas behind in Purgatory. Because this time it was his fault. He had let him go. 

And now that he’d come back, Dean could hardly even look him in the eye. 

While they’d had Crowley and the potentials to worry about, he could put it out of his mind, lose himself in the work. Now it was just the three of them again, in the millionth crappy motel room—after a while they all started to look the same. Cas was watching the Food Network with his usual laser focus, as if he would be expected to flawlessly produce Giada’s “modern twist on chicken cacciatore” at the end of the program. Sam, being Sam, was reading a novel— _The Marriage Plot_ , which was, incredibly, not written by a chick.

Dean was—well, he couldn’t figure out what to do with himself. Normally he could watch food porn with the best of them; today, he was distracted. His hands felt too big, and anywhere he put them looked wrong. _That’s because you want to put them on Cas_ , said some inner voice that could have been his conscience, if his conscience doubled as his libido. 

Dammit! Introspection hurt Dean’s brain after a while. He just couldn’t reconcile his elation at Cas’s return with this restlessness. He didn’t have to touch Cas, no matter how much he wanted to, but he should be able to _look_ at him, like a normal person with a normal friend. Thank God Sam was there to—

Sam was putting on his jacket. “Sammy? Where are you going?” 

“Oh, we passed a theater in town that was actually showing that movie I wanted to see. _Loneliest Planet_? Since you’ve got Cas to keep you company, I thought I’d check it out.”

“A movie? What the hell, Sam? You’re gonna ditch us for some goddamn art flick at a time like this?”

“Dude, I’ve been wanting to see it for a while, and it’s not something you’re gonna sit through. Remember? I read you that review that called it a ‘gorgeous meditation on trust, masculinity, and the subtle dynamics of relationships,’ and then you wouldn’t let me talk for an hour?” Sam smiled, but his eyes meeting Dean’s were almost solemn: _it’s okay. This time you really will be fine._

Then he was out the door.

Cas turned away from the television, looking confused. “This is a small town. I saw no movie theater.”

Damn, thought Dean. _Damn, damn, damn_.

“I think he wants us to talk,” he said, flicking his eyes away from the angel. He crossed his arms, uncrossed them.

“I don’t want to talk,” said Cas decisively, though he turned off the TV.

“Yeah, neither do I. But you know Sam—can’t understand not everybody’s a walking chick flick like him.” Dean’s laugh sounded forced, even to him.

Cas got up, walked across the room to where Dean stood, right up into what had once been Dean’s personal space, before he met Cas and that boundary somehow shifted. “I don’t want to talk,” Cas repeated. “But I do have a question.”

Dean had been staring at his own shoes; when Cas spoke, he raised his eyes just enough to bring Cas’s oxfords into view. “Yeah, sure, man. Shoot.”

“Why won’t you look at me, Dean?”

The angel sounded so _hurt_ , a hurt that went straight through Dean. Because he’d heard that tone from Cas before, and it was usually Dean’s fault.

He forced himself to look up, to meet those stark blue eyes. And he decided not to lie. 

“Because I’m broken, Cas.”

It felt good to say it out loud, and that lifted weight gave him resolve to keep being honest. He _was_ broken—he’d been broken so many times. Cas himself had broken him, in fact, would probably break him again. For right now, though, he would goddamn well try to make himself whole. 

And so he kissed him.

His lips pressed Cas’s with a gentle hunger, his tongue asking a question with years behind it. And here was his answer, at once what he’d expected and more than he’d hoped, as the angel deepened the kiss and pulled Dean’s hips tight against his own.

Their tongues met in conversation, saying all that needed to be said—all that had been unspoken for so long. Dean tasted regret, fear, apology, need. And he knew he must taste of all that and more. Of guilt. Of self-loathing. Beneath it all, the sharp taste of death.

And maybe it was this, the acrid flavor of grief and longing, that made Cas say it, even though it was already there in the way his mouth drifted over Dean’s jaw, in the way his hands spanned Dean’s ribs like they were made to fit there. “Dean,” Cas muttered low against his ear. “You must know how much I love you.”

Dean let out a growl that was almost a purr. “Tell me. Tell me how much.”

“I love you more than all the host of Heaven, Dean. I love you more than anything in all the worlds there are, in all the worlds that never were, and in all the worlds yet to be created.” He held Dean’s jaw firmly, stared at him in that unblinking way of his. “I love you more than you hate yourself.”

“God, Cas.” Dean could almost fall into the angel’s eyes, blue and wide as the sky over the Flint Hills. “Me too. I don’t have the words—I love you, Cas, but I don’t have the words.”

“Yes, I know. But you have the flesh. That is where your love lies.”

“Damn straight. Well, not _straight_ , but—I’ll stop talking.”

Cas’s trenchcoat was off in seconds, followed by the jacket and tie beneath it. Dean’s hands shook as he fumbled with the buttons of Cas’s shirt, until the angel broke their kiss for a few seconds—too many—to shuck it over his own head, before diving back into Dean’s eager mouth.

Somehow, Cas pulled off all three shirts Dean was wearing in a single motion— _there’s an angel power I didn’t know about_ , Dean thought, before it became impossible to think of anything but the warmth of skin on skin, the hands tugging at his belt before pushing him down onto the creaking motel bed.

Making out with Cas was—well, it was awesome. Their bodies were all flat surfaces, sharp angles, so that there was a geometry to their movements, as they negotiated the lines of each other. Words came back to Dean from a fog of half-heard math classes: _parallel. Perpendicular. Intersecting._ He was harder than he’d ever been in his life.

Cas rolled on top as they fought to kick each other’s shoes off. Dean hadn’t expected the angel to be so bold, but he wasn’t complaining. Especially as Cas slid a lean thigh between his legs, pushing up and into Dean’s erection as his own nudged Dean’s hip.

“Tell me what to do, Dean,” Cas whispered in his ear, dipping his head to suck the lobe. “This body wants so much, but I know so little.”

Dean laughed. “I’m flying blind here myself, dude. Kissing is good. You could—you could do more of that. On more of me, if you wanted.”

“Yes, I do want,” said Castiel gravely. He kissed down Dean’s neck, ran his tongue along Dean’s collarbone. Dean’s hands fluttered helplessly on the sheets.

Cas bent his head lower, licked a nipple. Encouraged by Dean’s sharp intake of breath, he closed his mouth around it and sucked gently. Dean gasped. “Yes, Cas. That works.”

The angel stopped suddenly, looked up at Dean with a slight frown. “I find myself wanting to—to devour you. To bite. Is that typical behavior in human lovemaking? Should I ignore the impulse?”

“No,” panted Dean, “no. You can bite a little. In fact, you can bite a lot—I’ll tell you if it’s too much.”

Immediately, Cas found a yielding spot just beneath Dean’s ribs, and clamped down _hard_. “GODDAMMIT! TOO MUCH!!”

Contrite, Cas licked the indented skin. He tried again, just to the left, and this time he hit that line between pleasure and pain that Dean loved to walk, drawing out an appreciative groan. “Better, Cas, better. But would you—uh, would you touch my cock?”

“Of course.” Cas’s hand slid down over Dean’s stomach, to palm the whole burning length of him. Dean’s hips lifted involuntarily.

Cas pressed down harder, grinding the zipper of Dean’s jeans against him. “May I take your pants off?” he asked.

Dean murmured assent. At the touch of Cas’s hand on his bare flesh, his eyes snapped open in something akin to awe. At the touch of Cas’s _mouth_ , he almost shattered in two.

In a brief moment of clarity, Dean realized he was getting blown by an angel. God, his life was weird. But sometimes, it was good. 

Surprisingly so, considering it was the first time Cas had ever done this. Beginner’s luck?

“Jesus, Cas,” he gasped. “How do you know what you’re doing? How is it—oh god, that’s incredible.”

Cas met his eyes, one hand still working Dean’s cock. “I don’t know. Does it matter?”

“No. No, it definitely does not.”

Cas’s mouth surrounded him again. Dean lost himself in that slick warmth, abandoning himself to the soft, insistent rhythm of lips and tongue (thankfully, Cas seemed to have intuited that teeth would not be welcome here). 

But no, that wasn’t right. Losing himself in sex, abandoning the self he usually ached to discard—that was Dean’s regular M.O. This was different. This was finding something.

Dean arched his back, dizzy on the edge of orgasm. He heard a faint keening sound that he realized was coming from his own throat. Then Cas took up the echo, low and throbbing, and that pushed Dean over. He came with a sound suspiciously like a sob.

The angel coughed a little as he swallowed, pressing Dean’s hipbones into the thin mattress. Then he looked up, tongue darting out across his lower lip.

“You seem to have a slight vitamin D deficiency, Dean,” Cas said, brow creased with concern. “Have you been spending enough time in the sun?”

“What, you can—you can _taste_ that? Goddamn, Cas, you are one creepy son of a bitch,” said Dean, laughing. He dragged him up for a kiss. They rolled together, mouths lush and lingering, until Dean pulled away and grinned. “So, uh, your turn?” 

He tugged down Cas’s pants, started licking his way down over the pale planes of the angel’s body. 

Cas stopped him. “Dean,” he said, and reached out to trace the pentagram tattoo over Dean’s heart. “This mark protects you from ever having a demon inside you?”

“Yeah.”

“What about an angel?”

It took Dean a moment to remember how to speak. “You want to be inside me.”

“Yes. Would that be all right?”

“Oh God, Cas, yeah, that’d be all right. Please.”

They went slowly, trying to balance the urgency they felt with the fact that neither was entirely sure what he was doing. So Cas used his tongue, then his fingers, to coax Dean’s ass open, while Dean whimpered and writhed, having given up any pretense of dignity long ago. Finally, and all at once, Cas filled him suddenly breathlessly full.

Dean choked back a scream, knowing from rueful experience how thin the walls were in these cheap motels. As he entered, Cas _yelped_ , the most animal sound a heavenly being could make. And then he just rested there, sheathed in Dean’s flesh, two bodies joined into something greater than either could ever be apart.

“Goddammit, Cas, _move_ ,” Dean begged. “Just…fuck me, please.”

Cas obliged.

Dean was on his back, splayed open, one leg hooked around Cas’s waist. The angel’s cock pushed into him, pulled back, sunk deeper. Already hard again, Dean jerked upwards into the friction, chanting Cas’s name.

It went on and on, and Dean was pretty sure he was losing his mind, that it was being screwed right out of him. He couldn’t remember the name of this motel, the name of this town, his own last name. He grabbed at the flexing muscles of Cas’s ass, urged him closer.

“Dean, close your eyes,” Castiel gasped.

“What? Why?” said Dean, not wanting to look away from the wild joy he found in that intense blue gaze.

“I am going to—I will revert to my true form when I climax,” Cas managed to say. “I believe I am close. You will go blind before my glory.”

“I think I already have.” But Dean shut his eyes obediently, the darkness removing him further from everything else in the world outside their embrace. 

Cas quickened his thrusts, taking Dean’s face between his hands and kissing him with renewed fierceness. Dean threw his head back as he came again, moaning, and bit down on Castiel’s shoulder as the angel made one final plunge into him. 

For a moment, Dean tasted feathers and fire; then the bed, the room—hell, the whole building—shook with the force of Cas’s true voice, crying out in ecstasy. 

Out in the parking lot, the shock wave sent Sam’s Eugenides novel flying into the footwell of the Impala. When he reached down to pick it up, he was smiling.

**Author's Note:**

> My very first fic. Be kind.


End file.
